


Keep The Flame

by galerian_ash



Category: Gunfight At The O.K. Corral
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, Doc wouldn't come galloping full-tilt over the softly rolling hills, catching up to Wyatt with a poor excuse and an easy grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep The Flame

Two hours ride from Tombstone, Wyatt reined in his buckskin. He sat still in the saddle for a moment, mind curiously blank, as he listened to the empty wilderness surrounding him. But there was nothing _to_ hear, a fact hammered home when he looked over his shoulder and saw no one following him.

This time, Doc wouldn't come galloping full-tilt over the softly rolling hills, catching up to Wyatt with a poor excuse and an easy grin.

And Wyatt was beginning to realize that he wasn't okay with that.

There was a chance that Laura was waiting for him, and California still beckoned — but did that really matter more to him than the man he'd left behind? Laura was beautiful, a lady of a different kind than any he'd known before, but he wasn't what she truly wanted. She'd wanted him to change, to be someone else, and when he'd failed to do so that had been it. Doc had chased after him without so much as a second thought, and had stood by him, unflinchingly.

The choice was easy, once he stopped to think about it. He turned his horse around and urged it into a quick trot, back towards Tombstone.

\----

He checked the saloon first, in case Doc was still there playing poker.

The bartender gave him a surprised look as he entered. "Back so soon? Did you leave something behind?" he asked.

"...Yeah, I think I did." Wyatt tried to remember the man's name. Joe, right, that was it. "Say, Joe," he said, leaning against the counter, "is Doc still around? One of the back rooms, maybe?"

Joe grimaced. "Never seen him play so bad. After a while he quit, turned to drinking instead. Then he quit that too, and just slumped over the table. I can't have people in here sleeping!" He sounded outraged, as if sleeping was somehow worse than all the other things people got up to in saloons.

"And after that?" Wyatt prompted. "Did he leave?"

"Went back to his room, I reckon." Joe shrugged, like the answer didn't really matter a whole lot to him. It probably didn't. But to Wyatt, it sure did.

He nodded his thanks and made his way to Doc's room, worry making his stride long and quick. His knocking went unheeded, turning worry into fear as he opened the door.

The room looked awful, with most of the furniture overturned. Throwing knives were embedded in the wall, but one of them had missed its mark and shattered the mirror. A bottle of whiskey had followed suit on the opposite wall, leaving a mess of shards and amber liquid in its wake. None of those things seemed important, however, as Doc was lying facedown on the bed.

Wyatt leaned over him and carefully rolled him over. Doc didn't react, not even when Wyatt pulled up the sheets and tucked him in. It was better to let him sleep for now; get some much-needed rest. They could talk later.

He turned back to the room, sighing. He needed something to do, to occupy his mind with, and trying to make the room a bit more presentable was as good as anything else.

He'd gotten a good deal of the mess cleaned up when a whisper-soft "Wyatt..." caught his attention. It was nothing more than a quiet exhale really, but it still made something warm coil in his belly. He turned around, smiling.

"Doc, you're awake," he began, only to cut himself off as he realized Doc was still out like a light.

It looked like he was dreaming. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, and the corners of his mouth were turned down. All in all he looked wretchedly unhappy, and when a tear slid out from under his closed eyelids Wyatt sat down on the bed. He gently wiped it away, letting his hand linger on Doc's face afterwards.

Doc unconsciously leaned into the touch, and Wyatt was powerless to resist. He lay down next to Doc and pulled him in close, listening to the way his breath rattled in his chest and feeling fear in a way that even eclipsed the sleepless night before the shootout.

"I'm here," he whispered, trying to soothe whatever sad dream Doc was caught it. "I'm here, and I won't let go. You're not alone."

Wyatt closed his eyes and just held on. He must've dozed off after that, for when he woke up Doc's eyes were open, regarding him solemnly.

"You know," he said, softly, "if I wasn't certain I was bound for hell, I'd think I was dead."

"You're still here," Wyatt replied. His arms were still around Doc, but he made no move to let go. Presumptuous, perhaps, but he didn't think he was wrong. Doc's hand was resting on Wyatt's waist, trembling slightly — completely unlike his usual steadiness. No, Wyatt didn't think he needed to ask how Doc felt. He'd shown it, as clear as day, in all his actions.

"And so are you," Doc said. "I thought you left."

"I did. Only to realize a few things on the trail, so I came back. For you," he added, wanting there to be no mistaking his meaning.

Didn't seem like there was, as Doc's eyes widened. Unfortunately his next move was to dislodge himself from Wyatt's embrace and sit up. "What about Laura?"

"Laura will be fine," Wyatt responded. Already he felt bereft, and he struggled against the urge to reach out and pull Doc back into his arms. He rolled over onto his back, clenching his hands to keep them still.

Doc frowned. "And I wouldn't? Is that what you're implying?"

Wyatt let his head drop back on the pillow, bending it back and exposing his throat. He closed his eyes. "No, Doc. That's not it. I'm trying to say that _I_ wouldn't be."

Doc remained silent. Maybe Wyatt had been wrong; maybe Doc really didn't feel the same way. He felt like a fool.

"So this isn't about your penchant for rescuing gamblers in distress?" Doc asked. His fingers were suddenly on Wyatt's face, trailing along his jaw. It was such a light touch, almost hesitant, but it still made Wyatt's heart race.

"No," he whispered, "this is about rescuing myself."

"Open your eyes."

Wyatt did. Doc was sitting leaned over him, an expression on his face that had never been there before. Gone was the haunted misery from a few hours ago, and gone was the death wish that had shadowed his bright eyes for as long as Wyatt had known him. He just looked _happy_. Shyly happy, as if he couldn't quite believe this was really happening.

It went straight to Wyatt's heart.

He sat up, not breaking their eye contact. Slowly, slowly, he reached out and cupped the back of Doc's neck and drew him in. The kiss was oddly familiar; like his body had known the rightness of the two of them together long before his mind had caught up.

A day, a month, a year — however long time they had together, Wyatt would make the most of it. He knew Doc would, too. And when the end came, whether in the form of a bullet or illness, they'd be together. That was all that mattered.


End file.
